


After the Fire

by justinlovesart



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justinlovesart/pseuds/justinlovesart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>510 gap-filler told in five drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Fire

1.

Justin walked up the stairs slowly, wondering if, weary as he was, he’d be able to sleep at all tonight.

The first thing he noticed as he let himself into his studio was the smell of paint and turpentine, and of all the other material things and debris of his work that had started to make their way back into his life after those odourless years of art by computer: sawdust, metal, graphite on paper; sharpened pencils and wet canvas.

It beat the smell of smoke and ashes that was still lingering in his throat and made his eyes sting.

 

2.

He ran a hand through his hair, sticky with soot and the light rain that had never stopped falling. He touched his scar. “Still there,” he thought: an unexpected comfort.

He needed a shower and something clean to sleep in, but all he really wanted right now was to sit and be still. The few steps to the window were all he could manage: he opened it despite the cold outside.

The city looked quiet, peaceful and dark except for a few street lamps and the occasional student walking home under those lights, smiling after a night untouched by hate.

 

3.

For a night so hateful, Justin thought, there had been love too. But thinking of Brian now, of what he’d said to him and repeated again and again as he’d held him close, felt like an indulgence he couldn't afford. 

Not only because of that lingering smell that was clinging to his clothes, skin and hair, and that no amount of showers, he knew, would ever be able to erase. Nor because Michael was still hanging between life and death.

He couldn't allow himself to think of Brian because the one thing he’d learnt was to be cautious with hope. 

 

4.

“I know what to expect,” he remembered saying once, when he’d wanted so much more. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

He inhaled deeply, wishing that the wet night would wash through his lungs.

He leaned against the futon then let himself sit on it, telling himself that he’d just rest for a while before going to the bathroom. He’d close his eyes for a couple of minutes, think about how Ben must be feeling right now; how good it was that his mother was not alone tonight; whether his father would check that he was not among the dead.

 

5\. 

He wouldn’t think about Brian as he said he loved him, because what did it mean against a backdrop of fire and ambulance lights? Brian’s face had glowed, reflecting those lights, and Justin felt guilty for seeing beauty in the sparks floating outside the burnt Babylon.

How had he heard him over all that noise from the police dispatchers? Brian hadn’t spoken loudly.

“Warm colors and soft voices in hell.” He’d shower tomorrow.

He must not indulge in those memories, he reminded himself once more, before falling asleep; but he was glad that this time he could remember at all.


End file.
